


weight in gold

by queenjameskirk



Series: how deep it goes [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenjameskirk/pseuds/queenjameskirk
Summary: Mike invites Bill over for dinner and Bill discovers what it's like to have a family love and care for you.





	weight in gold

_black dust in orbit_  
_cascades down like a parachute_  
_bricks on my shoulders_  
_this gravity hurts when you know the truth_

_weight in gold, gallant_

 

Mike is grounding.

He invites Bill over for dinner, letting Bill follow him on his bike out to the Hanlon farm. 

They take the trip slow, admiring the way the afternoon sun shines through the branches, leaves changing color as the summer transitions into fall. It’s still hot though and Bill feels his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. They ride two miles and then Mike is turning down a private driveway, the gravel crunching under their tires. The farmhouse is big, white with brown shutters. It’s surrounded by a crop of trees, sheltering it from the elements, and the front porch wraps around the side of the house.

Mike drops his bike on the front lawn and Bill does the same before wiping his sweating hands on the front of his shorts. Mike smiles at him, teeth unfairly white, and gestures for Bill to follow him inside. They tramp up the steps and enter into the mudroom. Bill kicks off his gravel dusted shoes and leaves them between Mike’s sneakers and a pair of large, mud crusted boots before following Mike through the house. The mudroom leads directly to the kitchen and Bill is hit with a wave of scent, his mouth watering. Mike’s mom is standing at the stove, watching over a pot of something, and turns to look at them with a smile. The kitchen is hot, heat from the oven raising the temperature in the whole room, and Mike’s mom has a thin sheen of sweat over her forehead. 

She’s beautiful.

“Hi, sweetie,” she greets, wiping her hands on her ruffled apron. She walks forward to kiss Mike on the forehead and instead of being embarrassed by his mother’s attention, Mike leans into it. Bill wonders what it’s like to be unashamed of affection. 

“You must be Bill,” she says, turning to look him over. Her eyes are warm and Bill feels himself being drawn in slowly. He wipes his hand on the side of his shorts again and holds it out for Mike’s mom to shake, trying to remember the old etiquette rules his mom had taught him years ago.

“Oh, honey,” she says, tutting her tongue, “We hug in this house,” and then she brings Bill into her arms. Her grip is soft, the way a mother’s should be, and just a touch too warm. Between the heat of the oven and the exertion of biking over, Bill suddenly feels sweaty and disgusting. But Mike’s mom doesn’t care, she just pulls him to her chest and runs a hand through his hair. When she lets go, Bill is almost sad to have to let go.

“Mike, baby, will you go fetch your daddy?” she says and Bill feels a sharp fear. He suddenly doesn’t want Mike to move from his side, irrationally afraid to be left alone with Mike’s mom. “Bill, do you mind setting the table?”

“Of c-c-ourse, ma’am,” Bill says, shooting a look at Mike. Instead of looking as scared as Bill feels, Mike is smiling. It dances in his eyes, like the reflection of a candle, and Mike leaves to get his dad with a pat to Bill’s shoulder.

“Call me Jess,” Mike’s mom commands, twirling around the kitchen to get a stack of plates from a cupboard. She hands them to Bill carefully and then points him to go through a doorless opening on the other side of the room. There’s a curtain hanging over the archway, an attempt to keep the heat in the kitchen, and Bill passes through it to find a small dining room. The room is blessedly cool, the blue curtains on the windows drawn to keep sunlight out. Bill admires the hutch in the corner, stacked with family pictures, and sets the plates down on the table. Jess gives him silverware and glasses and a few potholders to set in the middle so she can transfer food straight from the oven.

When the table is set, Bill goes back to the kitchen. Mike hasn’t returned yet and he panics a little. But Jess is understanding and beckons him over.

“Your momma ever teach you how to cook?” she asks, stirring a pot of gravy. Bill shakes his head and doesn’t tell her that mom hasn’t been doing much cooking herself lately, too wrapped up in grief to do anything but stare out the window some nights. Jess tuts her tongue at his response. “It’s important for boys to know how to feed themselves. We’ve got a little time, let me teach you a few tricks,”

Bill leans over the stove next to Jess, balancing on his tip toes, and nods as she explains how to properly mash potatoes. She lets him hold the masher, guiding him gently with her soft hand, and directs him with patience and care. Once she thinks he has the basic idea, she leaves him to finish the rest himself.

When Mike comes back with his dad, Bill is smiling proudly over a pot of perfectly mashed potatoes. Bill and Jess turn around at the sound of boot falls in the mudroom and Mike’s dad steps into the room, exuding peace.

“You must be Billy!” Mike’s dad says, reaching a big calloused hand out for Bill to shake. He’s wearing overalls and a checked shirt and he has Mike’s smile.

“Yes, sir,” Bill responds, slipping back into his manners easily.

“Will Hanlon,” Mike’s dad introduces, shaking Bill’s hand firmly. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” he says and Bill looks over his shoulder to see Mike duck his head and blush.

“Dad,” Mike starts but Will interrupts him with a gentle laugh.

“I’m just glad he’s got such good friends,” Will explains to Bill, winking at him. Bill sees where Mike gets his charm.

“Alright, wash your hands, boys,” Jess says, snapping a dishrag at Will. Her husband laughs and leans forward to peck her on the cheek before slipping behind her to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Mike and Bill follow, standing side by side in front of the sink with their elbows knocking together, and then they’re all heading to the dining room. Jess lets Bill carry the pot of potatoes, held in his hands with hand-knitted potholders. Mike grabs a bowl of corn and they set them down in the center of the table.

Will settles down at the head of the table and gestures for Bill to sit at his right. Mike settles to his left, directly across from Bill, and Jess slides in next to him.

Dinner with the Hanlon family is like getting a history lesson, only without the part where Bill tries hard not to fall asleep. Will Hanlon is a master storyteller, weaving tales of Derry’s past with expert skill and style.

“Do you get nightmares easy, Bill?” Will asks, taking a drink from his water glass.

“William,” Jess starts but Bill is already shaking his head seriously, only half lying. He has nightmares all the time, but he’s sure nothing Will could tell him could compete with the horrors that await Bill every time he closes his eyes. He doesn’t get nightmares easy— he never stops having them.

“Good,” Will starts, settling back in his chair, “Then I think you outta hear the story of the great Kitchner Ironworks explosion,”

By the time they’re finishing dinner, Will is wrapping up his story. He tells them about the Easter egg hunt and the non-functioning equipment. He adds little details Bill never knew, things he can’t believe Will could ever know unless he were there. Will describes the way the sun shone through the windows of the factory, illuminating hulking machinery. He knows what it smelled like— the scent of heat and tangy metal. He knows a few names of the dead, ancestors of the town’s population, killed in an explosion on the Lord’s day. Mike is enraptured too, even though Bill is sure he’s probably heard the story before. He hangs on his dad’s every word and Bill knows if he were given the opportunity, Mike would be writing down everything his father says.

“The legend is this— two weeks after the blast, Mrs. Clovers found the head of one of the children in the apple tree in her backyard. She lived over a mile and a half away from the Ironworks and all they ever found of that kid, Robert Doohay, was his head.” Will wraps up, looking Bill in the eyes seriously. Bill is suddenly frightened and so, so sure that It is here in the room with them. Not physically, but it’s almost as if the gory details of Its unholy work have brought it back to life somehow. He feels it in the way his breath settles heavy in his chest, almost choking him. He can tell Mike is feeling It too, can tell by the way his fingers grip the edge of the table with white knuckles.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jess says, standing from the table. Her movement snaps Bill and Mike out of their trance. “I’m going to get dessert and you boys are gonna start talkin’ about happy things,” The curtain flutters behind her as she leaves and Will leans over to Bill to whisper one last detail.

“Eight children are still missing to this day,” he says and his eyes flicker with something that Bill recognizes. For a moment, Bill is sure that Will Hanlon knows. That he knows all about It and the plague of death that haunts their town. But then Jess comes back into the room and the look in Will’s eyes vanishes, gone in a puff of smoke. He sits back in his chair and smiles at his wife as she dishes out pie for everyone. Bill stares at him in consideration for just another moment. Will catches him looking and winks.

“What do you do for fun, Bill?” Jess prompts, cutting her pie with the side of her fork. Bill shrugs, feeling a little worn out from getting so deep into Will’s story.

“I like b-biking,” he says lamely, but Mike jumps on it.

“You should see his bike,” he says, gesturing a thumb towards the front of the house as if to point at where Bill’s bike is laying on the lawn. “It’s huge and Bill can ride it to beat the Devil,”

“Ah, I remember my brother riding me double on a bike like that,” Will starts and Bill knows where this is going and it makes the warmth in his heart evaporate. He wants to throw his hands out and grab onto something and hold tight. But there’s no way to politely stop natural conversation and Will continues on with his train of thought, “You got any brothers or sisters, Billy?”

The problem is that sometimes Bill can forget. He can let himself get wrapped up in his life and his new-found family and he can forget all about It and Georgie. Sometimes he doesn’t see It every time he closes his eyes; he just sees blackness and that shouldn’t be comforting but it is. And he had done it tonight— let Will’s story wash over him and take his memories with it, burying them someplace deep in subconscious. He let himself get wrapped up in loving the Hanlons. But all it took is one question and Bill is plummeting back to Earth.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, settling over the room like early morning fog. Bill feels a tightening in his chest, a hand squeezing his heart. Mike looks at him worriedly, eyebrows furrowed. Bill makes brief eye contact with him and then looks back down at his plate. Suddenly, he isn’t very hungry for dessert anymore. He sets his fork down and folds his hands in his lap, willing himself not to cry. He doesn’t want to ruin everything he’s built tonight by letting his emotions spill over and get the better of him.  

“I h-had a br-b-brother,” Bill says finally, after too long of a pause. When he looks back up, Jess and Will are both looking at him in concern. “He, uh, he d-died last fall,”

Jess puts her hand over her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Bill,” she says and reaches over the dinner table, bypassing dishes, and lays her hand out, palm up. Bill unfolds his hands and slowly sneaks one up onto to the table and lays it in Jess’s outstretched palm. She squeezes back, her hand wrinkled and soft, and then retreats back across the table.

“It’s okay,” Bill says, voice soft. Then Will is leaning over, grabbing a hold of Bill’s shoulder. When Bill looks at him, Will Hanlon is smiling, a careful and private smile. The kind of smile reserved for family, for people you love. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Bill nods, sheepishly, and ducks his head for just a moment in an attempt to quell his emotions. When he looks back up, the entire Hanlon family is looking at him. There’s no pity in their eyes, just a sympathetic sadness over Bill’s pain and he’s suddenly so thankful to have these people in his life. What has he done to deserve such kindness?

“You’ve still got one brother,” Mike says finally, his voice quiet. Bill looks up into Mike’s eyes and sees love there, warm like a fire in the hearth on a cold winter’s day.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic originally existed in hc form over on my tumblr and ive decided to reformat a few things and put them up on the archive! this orignally was going to be in the form of a full fic but i think they work better as fics of their own that belong to a series! 
> 
> if you want to request something from me, feel free to visit me on tumblr @cryingbilldenbrough i LOVE answering headcanon prompts about my sad sad children!!


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